


127 Hours

by lizchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizchester/pseuds/lizchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is a pharmacist, and Dean gets his arm stuck in the automatic blood pressure checker while waiting for Sam to choose his girly shampoo three aisles over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	127 Hours

Dean is having an awful day. No, awful is the word you use when your day goes to shit because of normal things that you couldn’t avoid.

This would have just been considered an awful day if the world had just stuck to giving them the only motel room where the bed’s vibrator didn’t work – nobody messes with Dean’s vibrator beds, not even Satan himself – and then double whammied them by having the only reasonable diner within this entire stupid town be closed because of “insect infestations.”

It would have just been considered a terrible day if the world had stopped at making their only viable option for food the local grocery store, where both Winchesters were berated by whiny Taylor Swift music over the loudspeakers as soon as they entered. Sam was either clearly messing with him or was actively enjoying himself, because Dean then spent the next ten minutes picking up groceries with Sam quietly singing ‘she wears short skirts, I swear sneakers, she’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleaaaachers’ to himself as he debated between various boxes of his rabbit food.

No, today isn’t an awful day. It’s not even a terrible day. It is the worst day in his entire fucking life.

Dean had excused himself in the middle of Sam reading the labels on the back of all the shampoos (“What do you think Dean? Frizz control or Sleek N’ Shine?” “Know that I currently have a knife in my boot and I’m ready to murder you if you seriously ask me that question ever again.”) and decided to go wandering in search of some whisky to make this day at least barely tolerable. After all, how much worse could this day get? He’d thought he’d hit the jackpot when there, right in a secluded corner of the pharmacy, he’d spotted the blood-pressure checker.

Dean had always wanted to try using one of those suckers, always wanted to ask his Dad to give him a minute with it when he was much younger but never getting the guts to speak the words. After all, this baby had all the characteristics of a dreamsend: One, it was a machine. Dean had always loved working with machines, could easily get to know a car a little better if he was given a cold beer and a few hours with a toolbox. Although the checker wasn’t an Impala, it definitely wasn’t a space probe. Two, it vibrated. There’s no need to explain anything there. And three, it meant that he could get as far away from Sam as possible and let the boy fuss over his girl shampoo for as long as he needed to.

It had started out fine. Dean had sat down with a hum of pleasure, read a few words of the directions before getting bored and rolling up his flannel shirt sleeve without finishing, and shoved his hand into the plastic cylinder. “Let’s get down to business,” he had told himself with obvious glee, and pressed the bright green button. Almost instantly he heard the whirring of the vent, and suddenly the small plastic cushions enveloped his arm like a tight embrace.

“Woah baby,” he’d said, surprised at how quick the machine started and how tight his arm was jammed in there. He couldn’t say the feeling of having his hand hijacked was pleasant, but he could feel his pulse rhythmically beating if he focused his attention well enough and that was cool enough on its own. Shit, this was just the coolest thing he’d ever seen. “Sammy, you gotta try this!” He yelled from across the store, only receiving a noncommittal grunt in response as Sam moved further into the aisle and disappeared from his view.

And then all hell broke loose.

Dean had been sitting there for a few minutes, excitement rushing through him as he waited for the small black boxes to tell him his blood pressure. The few minutes had turned into five, and he was no closer to finding out anything. Maybe he was supposed to push something? He looked over at the only other button on the table, the dark red one that had the directions worn down from use. So he did what logic had told him to and he’d pressed it.

Nothing.

“You’ve got the be kidding me right now,” Dean groaned, pressing the button a few more times but getting nothing in response. He tried pulling his arm out, but only managed to shake the entire machine and make his flexed muscles even more constricted. “What is this? 127 Hours? Let me go.” He gave it another tug, but the stupid thing didn’t budge an inch.

This is officially the worst day ever. On a scale of one to suck, this freaking blows. Dean bent down as far as he could to see if there was a reset switch somewhere on the back of the panel, but only managed to strain his arm past anatomically able proportions. I’ve lived through wendigos, psycho clowns, and more demons than I can count. And here I am, Dean Winchester, going to die in a stupid blood-pressure machine. Dad would be proud.

This entire thought cycle and actions sequence repeated itself for a good five minutes, with Dean trying absolutely everything in his power to get out of the machine. First he tried using all his muscled force to jam his arm out, but he had only managed to potentially dislocate his shoulder and choke back a strangled scream. Then he’d tried screaming for Sam, who didn’t respond at all and left Dean with absolutely no back up whatsoever. And now …

“Look, sweetheart. I’ve really appreciated the time we’ve had together, I truly have, but I have a life to live that isn’t inside of a plastic death trap. I know it’s hard letting go, literally, but it’s not you. It’s me. So could you please just let me-“

It was then that he noticed that he was no longer the only one in the aisle, instead looking over to the side to notice a man looking at him from inside the pharmacy. And not only a man, but probably the hottest guy that Dean had seen in weeks. Great. “Are you having issues?” The man asked, leaning further into the counter to peer at Dean more fully. He could tell that the man was only one stroke away from breaking out into laughter, but at least he had the decency to keep it to himself.

“I, uh, think your machine broke.” Dean replied stupidly, because the man was moving closer to him now as he unlatched the small side door and moved into full view. His dark brown hair was sticking in all directions as if he’d just gotten out of a nap, and he could tell that under the stranger’s lab coat that the man was relatively muscular. Plus there was the topic of his eyes, god damn eyes had no right being so blue, which were staring at him as if he was some sort of exotic animal in the making. Dean followed the man’s attention as his eyes shifted upwards towards the ceiling.

“I’m going to assume that you didn’t read the sign,” the stranger said, and Dean turned his head then to notice the blatant piece of paper reading ‘Out of Order’ displayed very prominently just behind him. What in the fuck?

Dean turned his attention back to the guy, who was looking at him again in such a creepily pensive way that it sent a shiver up his spine. “That was definitely not there before!” The man only looked at him again, before turning his attention to the inside of the pharmacy.

“Give me a minute, let me try and find that toolkit…” for a minute he disappeared back inside the enclosed room, but returned quickly enough with a small blue box. “I’m not particularly sure how to use this, but Ash has gone out on his lunch break and we’re closing in an hour so it’s doubtful there are any extra hands around.”

Dean faltered then, once again not coming up with an adequate response. What was with him? “You could .. uh, okay. Well.” He swallowed, trying to ignore the way that the super hot pharmacist stranger who definitely caught him pleading with a blood pressure checker was staring at him right now. “Take out the small wrench right there, maybe try twisting…”

Within ten minutes, all of which included Dean attempting trial-and-error with the machine as he guided the pharmacist on what to do and definitely ignoring the way that his subtle cologne filled his senses every single time that he moved closer because god damn did this man not have an idea of what person space was, Dean finally managed to free himself from the devil contraption and practically cradled his arm as if it was a small child. “That was definitely one of the strangest things that has ever happened to me,” Dean commented with a cough, rubbing the outside of his shoulder through the fabric as the pharmacist chuckled and put the tools back inside the container. “I’m sure this happens all the time, right?”

“Occasionally.” Dean couldn’t tell if the man was trying to make him feel better, but he didn’t bother arguing in case that the answer was yes. As soon as the man finished locking the small box and put it back on the counter, he turned towards Dean and turned his attention towards his shoulder.

“I could get you some painkillers for that, if you’re hurt,” Once again this guy was up in his space, using two of his fingers to lightly press against the muscles on his arm. “Otherwise I would suggest icing it and reading signs carefully next time.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at that. “No, I’m good. Thank you ..”

The man smiled then, the smallest thing as the outsides of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Castiel. My name is Castiel.” Dean barely controlled himself as he swallowed at the sight. My god, he was being such a girl.

“S’nice to meet you, I’m Dean.”

“I hope that I can see you again when you aren’t so … indisposed,” Castiel replied, turning slightly to grab a small pack of Tylenol from the counter and handing it to Dean. “In any case, take these with you in case you feel soreness later on in the evening.”

“You’re an angel, thanks a ton,” Dean said, and practically sprinted out of there as fast as Castiel turned around and headed back into the pharmacy. When he finds Sam, he’s staring at a can of shaving cream as if he’s going to interrogate it.

Sam turns his gaze towards Dean as he moves closer, his face furrowing in confusion. “Where were you? You didn’t even grab anything.” He asks, and Dean only glares in response.

“Lets get out of here before I go insane,” Dean says in response, and the two of them leave the store with an entire bag filled with Sam’s fine care products and enough TV dinners to last them the rest of the hunt.

Later on during the night, as Dean is laying in his still not vibrating bed and listening to Sam’s shallow breathing from the bed beside his, he thinks about blue eyes and notes how today wasn’t an entirely bad day.

After all, it could have been worse.


End file.
